


Gaping Wounds

by Starry_Emerald173



Series: The Gap [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Earths, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dopplegangers, Hydra (Marvel), Hydra Steve Rogers, Inhumans (Marvel), Mutant Powers, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29065356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starry_Emerald173/pseuds/Starry_Emerald173
Summary: After five years back on your Earth, you and your daughter find yourself back on the wrong side of the breach, right where Rumlow wants you, and in the middle of a war for Alterna-Earth’s freedom from Hydra. Will you be able to keep your family - and your heart - intact this time?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Series: The Gap [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023619
Comments: 51
Kudos: 43





	1. The Beginning in The End

**Author's Note:**

> And we're baaaaaaack!
> 
> I'm so excited to dive back into this world. Please note, if you haven't read the first part of the series (Widening Gap), you will probably want to do so, as these events pick up after the final chapter of that work

“What do you mean, you can’t?” Tony Stark is staring at Helen Cho as if she hadn’t spoken perfectly good english a moment ago, ignoring Pepper’s urging to calm down, 'just for a minute, Tony'. “Wake him the hell up!”

The shout is sharp enough to have Bucky’s head snapping up on the other side of the observation glass where he’s sitting next to the gurney holding the unconscious hand of one Steven Grant Rogers with the quiet, sickroom desperation that makes Tony’s stomach lurch despite their history.

“I’m telling you that Captain Rogers was inconsolable and - to be blunt - out of his fucking mind when you called for help in y/n’s suite this morning.” Were Dr. Cho’s eyes always been this flinty? Tony wondered as the doc continued. “I’m ethically obligated to care for my patients, Mr. Stark. And I’m telling you that waking Mr. Rogers up from the sedatives we had to administer is not in his physiological or psychological best interests.”

“She’s right,” Bruce’s tone was apologetic. “We gave him a diluted version of what we used the last time the Big Guy went on a rampage. Trying to get past that?” Tony’s science partner ran a hand through his hair, blew out a frustrated breath. “We’d just as likely kill him as wake him up. Better to let his metabolism break it down and burn it out.”

“Goddammit.” For the million-and-oneth time, Tony ran his own hands through his hair, squeezing at the roots as if that could alleviate the pressure brewing inside his skull. “What the actual fuck…”

Wilson’s steps were the only sound in the hallway as Cho vanished back into the room. The new Captain’s jog slowed as he stepped up to the window.

“I had F.R.I.D.A.Y. pull up the footage. Somehow those breachers managed to create a breach  _ into _ her suite.” Stark had never seen Sam so mad - all the softness had vanished from his face as he stared at the unconscious First Avenger and his own partner in crime as Cho talked to Barnes in tones too low to hear in the hall. “They made fucking breakfast in her kitchen, Stark. Held Steve at gunpoint. Rumlow - their Rumlow - had Bex in his hands the whole fucking time.”

“They wouldn’t have risked her safety for anything.” Pepper’s hand was a warm - and welcome - weight in his own, grounding him as much as her soft smile. “Neither of them.”

Tony knows it to be true - shit, he’d burn the world down for his own kid. He'd do terrible things to keep Morgan safe. How could he expect you and Cap to do anything else in that position?

Sam nods, agreeing. “There’s about twenty minutes of them all in the kitchen, but then they open a second breach, and closed it behind them.”

“They left him behind. Would’ve been smarter to kill him.” At Wilson’s quirked eyebrow he continues, nodding at the body on the gurney, so massive and still except for the smooth, uninterrupted rise and fall of Steve’s chest. “Alterna-earth is going to get up close and personal with Rogers’ dark side when he wakes up.”

Pepper’s lips are set in a grim line and he can’t stand it, so he pulls her close and hugs her tight. 

He knows she remembers all-too well when the team had fractured, split, and what he’d looked like when Barnes and Rogers had left him for dead in Siberia. 

She’d also held him when he’d woken up from countless nightmares reliving that fight - that terrible moment when Captain America had fallen away and Tony had seen all the rage and fury that lived inside Steve Rogers.

Steve had told him once, that he hadn’t seen his dark side yet.

In Siberia, Tony had.

He'd be lying if he didn't admit it scared the ever-loving shit out of him.

“He’s going to need help.” Sam folds his arms over his chest. “And he’s not the only one who’s going to wanna go a little dark side on Rumlow and copy-Cap.”

Tony snorted, more for form than out of actual humor. “Copy-Cap. Nice.”

Bucky joined them, the former Winter Soldier’s face showing the strain of the last few hours. “Cho says he’ll be out for at least the rest of the day. The super-sedatives aren’t fucking around, apparently. What are we gonna do about this?” There’s a vulnerability in the question as Bucky looks at him.

Tony presses a kiss to Pepper’s head and reluctantly lets her go, knowing he needs to head to the lab. “We’re gonna figure out a way to make our own goddamn breach and get ‘em back.”


	2. The Long Game

You gave Bex a smile and watched her teeter after the butterfly in the garden where you’ve been playing all morning. Her delighted laughter made the smile real.

She won’t get too far - the garden is big, but not so much that she could get lost, and you know that the sentinels Rumlow has set around the perimeter will gently turn her back to you before she can reach the cleared yard that makes it impossible for anyone to sneak in - or out - of the property surrounding the house that has become your latest prison.

You’ll give Rumlow this much - he planned out a pretty good cage this time. Escaping is going to require time.

Not only is there not a way to sneak in or out of the house, but the house itself is buried in the heart of a Hydra compound. You know with absolute certainty that it's surveilled by not only the sentries patrolling just beyond the garden, but also by JARVIS - and god, hadn’t that given you a moment the first time the house AI had spoken? 

You'd almost forgotten the feeling of subtle disconnection caused by visiting alterna-earths, but hearing that voice, so cold and unfeeling after everything Vis had become on your world...

And Bex had heard his 'welcome home, sir' and immediately asked for 'unka Vis'.

But while the house might have every convenience known to man, it did not have any way for you to contact the outside world or even begin to find out what was happening on this earth, which was what you needed to begin planning an escape.

You’d deduced that Hydra wasn’t ruling this world in its entirety anymore, but you had no way of knowing how much of it was still under their control. No way to know if your friends on this earth were alive, or how to get word to them, or  _ anything _ useful.

There wasn’t even a television, for god’s sake. You couldn’t do something as simple as check the news. It had been five years - things  _ had _ to have changed - but until you had some kind of lay of the landscape, you’d have to bide your time.

At least Rumlow was buying your act of compliance.

Although it wasn’t much of an act at this point. You had no illusions about Bex’s role, or safety, in this place and without the certainty of an escape plan, you weren’t going to take risks that could rebound on your baby girl.

Think of the devil...you mused as you heard the front door shut, then the steady tread of shit-kickers through the living room to the sliding door at your back.

Rumlow had been physically affectionate - hugs, kisses, even holding your hand - since he’d tucked you and Bex away in this little hidey-hole, but for the most part, refrained from pushing you for more. You had the sense that he was, for the moment, content with the way things were, but there was no way it would last.

“There’s my girls,” His arms come around you with an easy intimacy that you can’t quite pretend doesn’t make your skin crawl and a peck on the cheek. “Having fun out here?”

His girls.

You don’t know whether or not to be glad or worried that Rumlow acted as if Bex were his own. You know that he’s seen her eyes - knows that she can’t possibly be his, not with the darkness of his irises, not when compared to the color of your own. Everything else about your daughter is in your spitting image when you were that age. But her eyes? Her eyes are from her father.

Oh, hadn’t that been a moment, when she’d been born and blinked up at you with eyes so glacially blue? Even Sam, who’d stuck by you throughout your pregnancy as both friend and champion in the face of the fallout with Steve, had sucked in a startled breath because it was so blindingly obvious whose eyes she’d inherited. 

And when Steve had finally come back from his little pity-party? Oh, it’d almost restarted the knock-down drag-out fight that had sent him running before. 

You'd told him, point-blank, to not come back until he grew up this time, backed by Tony, Pepper, Sam, Nat, and even _Happy_.

And he had. Clint and Nat had forced him onto a quinjet and a week later he'd turned up at your door with an apology.

You never did find out what happened in Budapest, but Steve had been a model co-parent after that.

You wouldn’t have pegged Rumlow as a family man, in this world or any other, but he was gentle and playful and conscientious when it came to Bex. Maybe it was the security, maybe it was the knowledge that you couldn’t try to escape...whatever it was, Rumlow felt confident enough to be tender with Bex.

Whether it was an act or not mattered. Even as you hated the part of your brain that was constantly calculating you knew if Rumlow genuinely cared for Bex, it would improve her odds of safety, might buy precious time.

“Rogers is coming by for dinner tonight. Thought we could eat out here, maybe fire up the grill.”

Your stomach gave a little lurch at the apple-pie-normalcy of his tone even as you nodded. As if this play-pretend-house wasn’t some fantasy in his head, but the actual reality.

“And I think you and I should have a long-overdue conversation.” He laughed, feeling you tense at the ominous possibilities. “I’m going to have to go back to work soon, and I want to make sure you know the ground rules while I’m away.”

Away.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Away. He was leaving.

“Ah, that’s got that clever brain working overtime, doesn’t it?” He asked as Bex came stumbling back and he released you. “Hey! There’s Bex!” His hands nipped her up, perching her on his hip as if he did it every day. “We have a guest coming over for dinner tonight.”

“A guest?” Bex asked, always your curious baby.

“Mmhmm. A very good friend of mine.” Rumlow tickled her sides, grinning as she giggled.

It was a picture out of a hallmark movie and it was your living hell.

But he was leaving.

Hope, stubborn hope, flared bright and hot in your chest as you watched Rumlow walk back into the house, Bex chattering away about the butterflies she'd seen today.

You were going to find your way home, no matter how long it took.


	3. Devil's Own Luck

It’s been three weeks since they found out you were back.

Three.

Weeks.

It's been the longest three weeks of his entire life.

Everyone except Romanov thinks he’s fine, but as he looks through the long-range sight, James can admit to himself that he’s not. He’s so far from fine it isn’t even funny. He has no business being the field right now, and he fucking knows it.

And yet.

He’d had to see for himself. Had to.

The compulsion to lay his own eyes on you was a near constant drumming inside him. You were  _ alive _ . You were  _ here. _

Or more accurately,  _ there _ , in the garden, pacing back and forth, practically wearing a new path into the grass.

Rumlow had left early that morning, and Mac and he had been watching since.

Surveillance duty was no stranger - hell, he'd been a sniper in his early career - but it's been the hardest recon mission in his life. Every part of him is screaming to get you out, barely held back by logic and reason.

They have to learn more - they have to know enough to plan an incursion, and it has to be perfect because he  _ cannot _ risk losing you again.

“She isn’t usually doing this.” Mac offers from beside him. “Something must be brewing.”

Yeah, James thinks as he drinks in the sight of your scowl, your furrowed brow, the way your teeth are nibbling on the edge of your lip. Something’s brewing alright. “Run me through her routine again.”

Mac sighs, but does as requested. “Early riser. She and Rumlow eat breakfast, then she sits out on the patio with her coffee til the little one gets up. Makes her breakfast, then they play. Build forts and shit. Run around outside. Lunch.” He’s clearly got the schedule down pat. “Then the little one goes down for a nap. Then she has an hour or two to herself - mixes it up. Training, working out. Sometimes just walking the grounds, within the perimeter. She’s gone over the inside of that house more times than I can count.”

James can picture it, even as his eyes continue to remain fixed on your pacing form.

So close - god, so. Close.

And so far at the same goddamn time.

“Then more play, snack time, play again til Rumlow comes back. Dinner. Sometimes with guests. Usually Rogers, though Stark’s stopped by a few times too, and Banner once.”

“Banner?”

“Yeah.” Mac nods. “She got pretty pissed off that time. I think they wanted to test the kid - maybe she’s inhuman too? - but I can’t be sure. Banner tried to play with her outside and y/n  _ freaked _ . Went protective Mama Bear, the whole nine yards.”

Jesus. James’ breath caught in his throat at the thought of it - because of course you would be a protective parent, but christ almighty, Banner wasn’t the kind of monster to confront head on.

“What happened?”

Mac’s huff of laughter was humorless. “Banner laughed it off, hasn’t been back since. Stark still visits from time to time, but never tries to get the kid away from her.” There’s still tension in the big man though and James pulls his eyes away from the scope.

“Whatever it is you don’t want to tell me, just say it already, Mac.”

“Rumlow’s face,” Mac confesses. “When she went off at Banner. It was...creepy. Proud. Happy.” He shudders. “I knew the sick psycho was fixated on her but seeing it? It was like…”

James remembers all too well what Rumlow’s facial expressions were when it came to you. “Yeah. Creepy is probably the closest word you’re gonna find, Mac.”

“Anyway. Dinner. Then Rumlow will play with the kid or hang out while they watch a movie. He doesn’t hurt them, or he hasn’t so far.”

James knows Mac’s telling him to reassure himself as much as he’s trying to reassure James. Sitting here, waiting, trying to rationalize the need to act away...He wonders if it makes Mac feel better, because it sure doesn’t help him. “And after that?”

“Bath time for the kid. Usually y/n puts her to bed, but Rumlow’s done it a couple of times while she stands in the doorway. Kid’s got the last room on the second floor.” He points, and while James has never been much of a fan of the modern all-glass type of houses, he’ll admit the style is certainly working in their favor. “Kid usually goes out around eight? Eighty-thirty? Sleeps like a rock most of the time.”

“Furthest room from the exit points. Anyone going for the kid has to make it through the entire rest of the house.” He can’t quite push past the personal, but the professional - the part of him that’s been doing this for most of his life now - is clocking the layout, putting it together with Mac’s intel. “Then what?”

Mac winces. “Man…”

“Just tell me. You can’t say anything worse than what my imagination can come up with.” 

It's true. He'd nearly driven himself catatonic those first couple of days, picturing what you could be going through, steamrolled by his own emotions and imagination.

Romanov had literally slapped some sense back into him during a training session - he'd been so distracted she'd been able to throw him and use the floor to slap him with.

“It’s like...it’s like watching one of those old sitcom shows. They go back downstairs and he makes himself a drink and they sit in the living room. Sometimes read, or watch a movie. He’s...affectionate with her. Likes to have her close. He won’t take calls with her in the room though - he heads to the office for that. Room off of the kitchen.” He adds. “Around ten or so they go up to the master suite - first door at the top of the stairs. I don’t think he’s...done anything…” Mac’s meaning is pretty clear, despite the vagueness of the words. “At least, not yet.”

“Why’s that?” He will not let the rising rage choke out his reason at the thought of  _ that _ . He will. Not.

“You’ll see it yourself - but the way he looks at her sometimes. He’s biding his time.” Mac’s disgust is palpable. “Fucker.”

“That he is.” James agrees.

“Bastard has the devil’s own luck.” Mac grouses. “I cannot wait for him to get his.”

"Join the fucking line, pal."


	4. Goes To War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: It is somehow only and already Wednesday? I do not understand how time works anymore...Anywho...probably get another chapter up around Friday at this pace...
> 
> Also, should you have the bandwidth, comments feed the hell outta the writing monster - would love to know where y'all see it going, what you think so far, etc

Sam Wilson has seen a lot of shit in his life so far.

He’s seen good and bad and ugly. He’s seen his literal wingman get blown out of the sky. He’s seen battle, and blood and guts and carnage. He’s watched veterans reclaim their lives. Inch by painstaking inch. He’s reclaimed his own. 

He’s watched aliens come through portals. Watched gods and monsters try to make a claim to the earth. Seen them pushed back by the actions of the brave, the extraordinary, and even the ordinary.

He's spent time marveling over the wonders of Wakanda, which is about as far from ordinary as he can get.

He’s seen the Avengers in the midst of the action, and behind the masks and the suits. And found a home with them. People he would die for, who would die for him.

But one thing he hasn’t seen until now is Steve Rogers preparing for war.

Because that’s what this is, he knows, watching him suit up.

This isn’t Captain America in front of him - there’s no righteousness here. No bolstering leadership and conviction. No speeches.

Just rage. Vicious, vivid anger packed inside a frame that - despite super serum - is several sizes too small for the emotions its holding.

“You aren’t going to talk me out of this, Sam.”

Sam leans against the doorway of the armory, casual-like. “Is that what I’m supposed to do now?”

“I’m going to get them back. I’m going to burn Hydra to the fucking ground, and I’m going to bring y/n and Bex home.” Steve doesn’t look at him as he says the words, just continues loading up the stealth suit. “Tony wants to wait, make the strategic play, and that’s fine.” The tension in his jaw makes a lie of that statement as he slips another knife into a hoster. “But I’m not waiting here with my thumb up my ass while…” His voice stretches thin, like piano wire wound too tight, and his gaze goes unfocused. Then he shakes it off, goes back to checking over the ordinance laid out in front of him. “While they’re in that other world. Cisco can breach me there while Tony comes up with his plan.”

“Bucky’s getting ready to join you.” Sam had left Barnes in his room where he’d been readying his own weapons.

Barnes is gonna be pissed at him when he realizes what Sam’s done.

Steve nods. “I know. He’s always got my back.” He says it like it’s an immutable fact - the earth is round, water is wet. 

Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers face all threats together.

“Not this time.” Sam’s words have Steve’s head whipping around to him and he knows the moment Steve puts the pieces together because Sam is there, kitted out for war himself. “Bucky can’t go with us this time. You remember y/n told us who - what- he was on there. Bringing Barnes would be putting a target on his back, and you don’t have enough recon or groundwork laid to make it easy for the pair of you to slip in and out.” 

It's not the full reason, but it's the first.

“Yeah, well, you’re not exactly low profile yourself over there. Neither am I.”

“You’re going to get Bucky killed, and we both know it.” That's the second reason, and the real one.

Dangerous. 

That’s the word for the moment that stands between them now. Stretched taut between the two of them, and the look Steve is giving him isn't so much considering as predatory, assessing.

If Sam didn't know better, he'd be a little afraid. Knows that Stark would be.

But everyone says is, and forgets the truth of it - Sam Wilson does what Steve does, just a little slower.

They're cut from the same cloth, and that means Sam knows more about Steve than just about anyone in this damn compound, including Bucky Barnes and you.

“I’m not saying your anger isn’t justified.” Because he and Steve are the same, at their core, he lets him see his own anger - that he kept carefully leashed through Tony and Steve’s spectacular blow out - and his own certainty. “It is. I want to find Rumlow on that earth and do things that...when I say I say I want to do unspeakable things to that son of a bitch, that isn’t hyperbole.”

He sees the understanding in Steve’s face, sees just a little tension drain from those massive shoulders.

“She felt safe here. Finally.” It’s the source of his rage and he can see its twin in the face he stares into. “She felt safe, and we were her family, and you and she were finally getting your shit sorted out. And then…” His hands curl into impotent fists at his sides. “And then that motherfucker came here and made it all meaningless. The last five years...the nightmares, the fighting, the hypervigilance…”

He can still hear your shouts from the nightmares the first year. Remember the haggard exhaustion that plagued you between your newborn baby and your sleeping mind. The way you flinched away from them all, never meaning to, but unable to stop yourself sometimes. That first year...that had been one of the most wrenching experiences of his life, to watch you go through that.

And he can remember when you started turning that corner - when you’d started to claw your way out of the hole that your experiences had left you in. He can remember the first time you let him hold you while you cried about Steve and the baby and James and your guilt and confusion.

He's your friend, and Bex's uncle, and he'll be damned if he doesn't do something about this, now.

“I’m not saying your anger isn’t justified.” He repeats, trying to bring himself back to focus. “But you and I both know Bucky can’t come with you. He’ll hesitate,” Because the Winter Soldier had a soul again, had a conscience. “...and it’ll get him killed. Or you killed. Or y/n killed.”

It’s true. Bucky Barnes of this earth is, in the joking words of Tony Stark, a real boy again. He’s got a mind and heart that’s entirely too vulnerable to be crossing dimensions with because he will try too hard to do the right thing, just to prove that he can, now that the last of the conditioning is out of his head. He'll do the right thing, or he'll freeze as he tries to decide what the right thing is.

And there’s not a lot about going to war that involves doing the right thing.

So Sam’s making sure that his best friends have what they need. You need a rescue. Steve needs someone to go with him who won’t stop him from whatever needs to be done. And Bucky needs to stay.

“What did you do?” Steve asks, curious now, not judgmental.

Sam shrugs. “I used the therapist’s override code and locked him in his suite.”

“He won’t forgive you for it. Won’t forgive us for it,” Steve corrects, taking on the weight of it and Sam knows he’s won the argument.

“He’ll be alive to hate us when we get back.” He straightens, jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Come on, Rogers. Cisco isn’t gonna wait all day.”


	5. Leverage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Short chapter tonight - longer one in the works for this weekend (I am out of coffee and the delivery gods are presently full of spite so the writing has been slow today)
> 
> Lots brewing in the coming chapters...

Another week and you were only marginally closer to figuring out an escape.

Well, not practically.

But after his latest mission, Rumlow had come back in a good mood, and now...Now you were getting a chance to see at least some of the compound.

Granted, Rogers was babysitting Bex while Rumlow drove you beyond the yard that had become the outer confines of your world for the last month.

A month.

God, Steve had to be going insane back on your home world.You had no doubt that he'd come for you - for Bex. Him, Sam, Stark...The knowledge that they were undoubtably working to find a way to bring you back has been an anchoring thought over the last few weeks.

“Jarvis says you were good while I was gone.”

You made a noncommittal noise, drinking in the sight of other buildings, people, vehicles. Best guess, the operational component of the compound lay no more than a half mile from the house.

But how far to the edge of the compound itself? And how far could you make it with Bex in tow?

“Don’t forget to clock the guard towers, sunshine.” Rumlow’s smile is seven shades of amused as he parks the car outside a building that is unmarked. “Come on.”

It chafes to follow after him, but he’s right to assume you will. Rogers has Bex, and you have no way out without your baby girl.

Rumlow waited for you at the door, took your hand in his own. “I wanted to give you some time to settle, before we did this.”

Oh god.

He laughed, tugged you down the hallway. “Not that. Not that I’m opposed, but I can be a patient man, and you’re not ready.”

Thank. God.

The relief that rushed through you blinded you for a moment to your surroundings as Rumlow dragged you through another set of doors.

As your brain caught up with what your eyes saw, your feet stopped, stuck to the floor as if with glue.

“Oh god.” It slipped out, breathlessly, as you froze.

Rumlow grinned at your words. “You didn’t think after you bombed the original Bridge that we wouldn’t have started building back ups of this kind of tech?”

The Chair.

On this earth and your own, ugly and metal and it still fills you with a quiet kind of rage, a hum in your bloodstream just to think about it being used on the Bucky Barnes of your world, and countless others here.

Seeing it, knowing what it can do, makes your skin crawl and you’re very glad suddenly Bex isn’t here. Because whatever Rumlow brought you here to show you - or tell you - you’re all too aware of your precarious situation again.

“You’re afraid.” Rumlow observed, dragging you in front of him, wrapping his arms around you with a squeeze as technicians move about the room. “Good. You’ve always been smart, sunshine.”

“Why are you showing me this?” You managed to ask, though the tremble in your voice was all too obvious.

“Because,” He murmured, pressing lips to your temple. “I’m going to ask you some questions about your earth’s defenses and if I even  _ think _ you’re not telling me the truth, I’m going to put you in that chair and I will take the memory of everyone who ever mattered to you. And I’ll start,” He promised. “With Bex.”

"We're not alone." Sam tossed Steve the scope. "Ridge on the other side, 'bout halfway up, little to the left of the dead pine tree."

Steve followed the directions, and even then it took him a minute to spot the giant man and...His hand clenched around the scope and the casing squeaked as he eased up.

Barnes.

It was obvious they were scoping out the facility - more accurately the house that sat inside the compound. 

It had taken a long time for you to tell him about the Barnes of this earth. Not Bucky. James.

Steve knew it wasn't fair, but he hated James. Hated how your voice softened when you'd told him, in halting tones, about what happened in your time on this earth. Hated that he was jealous of a man who had been able to be there for you - saved you, helped you.

Had a daughter with you, even if he'd never laid eyes on that daughter.

A better man would've been able to let it go. Put it away. Especially when that man had, in the end, gotten the girl, and the family. Maybe he'd fucked it up along the way, but before that horrible morning a month ago, Steve Rogers had put his life back together.

He'd put in his retirement papers after that last mission. Had planned to tell you over the breakfast he and Bex were going to cook for you. To tell you that he wanted more. More time with you both, more than the life of a soldier, a superhero.

"The enemy of my enemy..." Sam trailed off as headlights lit up the driveway of the house, the car parked, and a moment later, you stumbled out, looking pale and unsteady.

And they had to watch as Rumlow helped you from the car to the house.

"You gotta plan, cap?"

"Y'know what..." Rumlow's hand dipped to the small of your back and Steve felt the scope snap in his hand. "I think I do."


	6. The Enemy of My Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: not gonna lie, my palms are a little sweaty - tried to keep our boys as in character as possible...but I probably failed a little bit.
> 
> And sorry/not sorry for the ending 😉

“This is some trippy shit.” Mac shakes his head, but he hands Sam an MRE from his pack.

“Agreed.” Wilson wastes no time in opening the pack, biting into the bar. “Good to know some things are a universal constant though. These suck here  _ and _ at home.”

"Good to know." Mac's snort of amusement is at direct odds with the tension filling the small clearing, set back aways from their vantage point.

It’s definitely trippy, James thinks. The way Wilson moves, talks. It’s all the same and yet...not…

He’s appreciating for the first time what it must have been like for you - living in a world filled with people like Sam Wilson in front of him now. Familiar faces, but somehow not. It’s...unsettling doesn't even begin to cover it.

He’s not nearly as unsettled as Mac was at first, but then again, Mac doesn’t know the face across from them next to Sam as well as James does.

Steven Grant Rogers - your soulmate - is  _ pissed _ .

And he really doesn’t like James.

Which is fine. He doesn’t need any Rogers’ approval. Hasn’t for a long time. And if he’d been the one to walk away from this world with the girl, James is pretty sure he’d be more than a little steamed to find himself - and you, and your daughter - dragged back into the thick of it.

“So you’re…”

“Her soulmate.” Steve finishes for Mac. “We came to bring her home.”

“You’ve got Bridging tech?” James can see the answer and puts it together with an intuitive  _ knowing _ and a groan. “Goddammit, Rogers...You ripped a hole through space time and  _ didn’t  _ bother to secure an exit plan?” He has to move, has to do  _ something _ with this energy, so he pushes to his feet, paces.

“Guess Rogers is as big of a reckless idiot here as he is?” Wilson asks, continuing to eat.

"That's rich coming from the guy who came with me." Steve snarks and Wilson just gives him an insincere grin and a shrug.

“He was.” James snarls. “Considering the last time I talked to him he tried to torture me, I wouldn’t be able to say now.”

Wilson’s eyebrows rise comically high. “So you and Rogers on this earth…”

“Hate each other’s guts?” Mac sighs. “Pretty much. I mean, they used to be like this,” He twins his fingers together. "But then the Winter Wolf grew a conscience and became a double agent, and now he's on our side. Which really kinda put a kibosh on the whole 'best friends since the schoolyard' thing."

“We can use that.” Steve is eyeing James now, assessing. “Could be a way into the base.”

James can’t stop the scoff from leaving his mouth. “You can’t impersonate our Rogers.”

“It worked before.” Steve reminds him. “And if I walk in with you in shackles, it’ll be a big enough win to get me through the front gate.”

“Won’t work.”

“You just gonna sit here with your thumb up your ass then?” Impatience grinds Steve's back molars and James can freaking hear the enamel getting worn down.

“It won’t work,” James explains, straining for patience that’s been all too thin lately. But this is your soulmate, who’s crossed the multiverse for you, and while James has no intention of letting you go without a fight, the first step is getting you free from Rumlow. “because our Steve Rogers is already in there. You’d have to wait til he leaves on mission.”

“You aren’t objecting to the plan overall though.” Wilson notes between bites as the last of the MRE vanishes.

“It has merits. Might work.” Probably get him killed. Might be worth it if he can do enough damage and get you out, but there’s a lot that’s uncertain. “You’re going to have to get better at acting though, and fast.”

“I played Rogers once before.” Oh, oh James recognizes that mule stubborn set to Steve's lips right now and it makes him want to throttle him.

Guess the mutual Rogers have a lot in common after all.

He wonders if Bucky Barnes on your earth has the same urge...

“For what? An hour? Two? You’re talking about walking into Rumlow’s lair - for lack of a better word - and you won’t be able to fool him indefinitely without help.”

“Just so long as we have one thing straight.” Steve levels him a ‘no more games’ kind of look, which turns into a scowl as James laughs. “I’m not leaving without my soulmate and my daughter.”

“Did I stop you last time?” James is sure the words weren’t supposed to come out as a snarl, but they did. Even Mac is glancing at him sideways and James shoves a breath out and runs a hand through his hair, trying to find that glacial, sniper calm once more.

“You wanted to.” If looks could kill, James would be a crater right now under that blue glare. “Not so fun when you’re the one being read by a stranger, is it?” The powerful body relaxes as Steve crosses his arms over his chest. “And she told me about you. So let’s just be clear about this. Y/n is my soulmate. She and Bex are...they’re what matters most to me. I’m not going to let you get in the way of that.”

And before James can respond to that, Mac - the big, beautiful, bald bastard - jumps in.

“Okay, one,” He counts off on his fingers “You the most self righteous bastard on  _ every _ earth, or just the ones that end in odd numbers, or what? Two, y/n? Is a person. A person that matters just as much to our team as she does to yours. So get your head out of your ass and stop acting like you’ve got an exclusive right to giving a shit. Third? Whatever weird YA, love-triangle bullshit the two of you have going on? Isn’t gonna help get her - or the kid - out of there. And fourth,” He pushes out a slow, long breath. "You may just wanna consider the possibility that until you find a way home, we're your goddamn allies and you need us."

“I like him.” Wilson nodded at Mac. “C’mon, Cap. Sit down, hear ‘em out.”

Sam’s taking over watch while Mac gets some shut eye. It’s been hours, and they have the basis of a semi-reasonable plan. 

“Look.” James forces himself to keep his instinctive dislike of this Rogers contained. “Mac’s right. About y/n and us. We work together, get her and the kid out. Get them safe. That...that comes first.”

“And after that?”

“You want me to lie and tell you I don’t have feelings for her still? That I won’t do everything I can to keep her from walking away this time?” James snorts and sees the edge of Steve's lip kick up in a reluctant smile. “Would you believe me?”

Steve shakes his head. “Nah. You’re a shit liar on this earth too.”

“Not much point in lying about this.”

“Nope.” Steve even ‘pops’ the ‘p’ sound like James’ does and there’s just a moment, a split second, of total accord between the two of them that James hasn’t felt since they were two dumb, stupid kids shipping out from Brooklyn for the war.

He puts that thought away as soon as it occurs. Not only was that a literal lifetime ago, it wasn't even with this version of Steve.

“Hey guys…” Sam calls, strain in his voice. “We have a situation happening.”

Lights are on in the house below, with vehicles in the driveway.

“Stark just showed up.” Sam says as James crouches next to him, pulls out his own scope.

“Fuck. That cannot be good this late at night…” 

Steve scowls at the pair of them. “Mine are broken - someone tell me what the fuck is happening.”


	7. Price Too High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: sorry for the shortness of the chapters - i'm finding it easier to move through the story this way. We're coming up on the point where I have to decide how dark I want Steve to go...

Sharing a bed with Rumlow was not an easy thing - your brain often simply refused to shut off, even after he’d fallen asleep. You’d pass multiple nights in a row staring at the same spot on the wall or ceiling, willing yourself towards unconsciousness with no success. Every couple of days, though, your body would finally succumb to exhaustion, dragging you under the moment you were laid out.

As much as you relished the dreamless state, you almost hated it worse than nights spent fruitlessly waiting for the sunrise. 

Mostly because Rumlow would hold you close and you’d wake up with his arms or legs tangled in your own.

Every time you woke, groggy but warm and the weight of your limbs heavy against the mattress...every time, just for a second, you could believe that you were back on your earth and the arms around you didn’t belong to a man you thoroughly despised.

You also hated it because being unconscious meant being vulnerable - just one more area in which your control was taken away from you. Again.

But human physiology being what it was, you were about ten seconds from the sleep of the dead when Stark burst into the master suite, with apologies from JARVIS and Banner trailing behind him.

“What the hell are you doing, Stark?” Rumlow demanded, even as Stark crossed the room and grabbed your hair by the handful. “Get your hands the fuck off of her. Right. Now.”

“We had a little setback at the lab.” Banner explained, even as Stark hauled you bodily from the bed, adrenaline kickstarting your heart and mind back to wakefulness. “Another problem with the Bridge.”

The fucking Bridge - the portal being built to allow Hydra to march an army through to your earth. Larger than the personal devices that allowed individual people to cross, or even small groups. You’d blown Stark’s original design to hell when you’d first escaped Rumlow and gone on the run.

Hearing it wasn’t completed - and was having problems - was better than Christmas, despite the situation of the moment.

So, Hydra still planned to invade. It was confirmation following Rumlow’s relatively gentle questioning about the defenses of your earth. And, more importantly, whatever went wrong at the lab had gone so wrong that Stark had lost his everloving mind.

The last time you’d seen Tony Stark this emotional and out of control, the team had been split in two over Barnes’ presumed guilt and the Sokovian Accords.

“You’ve worked around setbacks before. You’ll work around this one too.” Rumlow reasoned. 

“I’ll tell you what - it can’t be done! When she,” A vicious shake has you hissing at the strain being placed on your roots as he jerked your head back. “Destroyed the original lab, she destroyed it down to a subatomic level.  _ Nothing _ survived.”

A tiny spark of victory burned in your chest and you barely managed to stop the feral grin from sliding over your face.

“You’ve been making progress on this tech for years, Stark.”

“Yeah, well.” Stark’s laugh is a cold huff. “I’m good. But even I can’t rebuild without Dr. Foster’s work. Those original equations...they were never kept anywhere else.”

Dr. Foster? Jane? She must have been working on similar theories here...if Stark used her research in the original formation of the Bridge...

“I told you you shouldn’t have killed her.” Banner points out. 

“Yes, thank you.” Stark turned back to Rumlow. “My point is, the only person who had access to those equations between the last time I was in that lab, and it getting blown to fucking smithereens was your  _ soulmate _ .”

“So you come storming in, in the middle of the night, to throw a temper tantrum?” Rumlow tosses his hands up in exasperation. “You’ve finally lost your goddamn mind, Stark.”

“Maybe I have, but then I had a thought, Brock.” Stark all but threw the words at Rumlow. “In what universe does any student of Romanov not leave herself a back door?”

Rumlow weighs it, considers it, considers you. “Let her go, Tony.”

He does and you drop to the floor, scalp tender and screaming. Rumlow crouches by your side, fingers lifting your chin to meet your gaze.

“I told you what the cost of hiding information from me would be.” He says, not angry. Just cold. Practical. It’s refreshing in contrast to his ‘it’s a happy life’ persona. “So I will ask you this one time, sunshine.”

You can’t suppress the tremble that moves through you at the reminder of the Chair.

“Did you leave yourself a way to recover the original bridge tech specs?”

You can’t do it - god help you - you can’t tell this lie. 

Not for the fate of either earth. 

You know the way the math is supposed to work when lives are in the balance, when good clashes against evil. But you can’t make yourself utter the words your entire adult life tells you to say because you know that Rumlow will make good on his threat.

“Yes.”


	8. Forward and Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Okay, here we goes...Also, be gentle with me, readers - not used to writing dialogue for kiddos.

“You can’t stop me.” Steve bristled as Mac’s hand landed on his shoulder.

They’d watched, helpless, as you’d been dragged down to the living room, where a tense conversation had unfolded. 

He wanted to punch something.

Preferably Rumlow.

He hadn’t needed to hear the conversation to know that whatever had unfolded upstairs wasn’t good. Your body language had told him enough - the defeated set of your shoulders, the quiver of your hands in your lap. The way your eyes stayed on the floor, no matter who - Rumlow, Stark, or Banner - talked to you.

“Think this through, Com - Captain.” Mac said, looking him in the eye, somehow calm. “Barnes and Wilson can more effectively scout than you can - no one on this world knows you’re here. That’s an ace we shouldn’t be laying on the table just yet.”

His teeth were going to grind down to nothing, but Steve had to admit the man had a point.

He hated this - this helplessness - and there was nothing he could do about it. Again.

No matter how powerful the serum had made his body, no matter how much strategy he used, he was just another man at the end of the day, and fate had made hostages of the people who held pieces of his heart.

First had been his mother, then Bucky, then the Avengers, and now you and Bex.

“I know how Hydra operates.” Barnes - James - offered, and even though it was meant as reassurance, Steve had to tamp down on the wave of irritation, gritting his teeth anew. “I can evade them on the ground like a ghost.”

“And you know what I can do with the EXO-suit.” Sam added.

Mac shook his head. “Still so weird.”

“I take it I don’t have one of these on this earth?” 

Mac shook his head again as he gave Wilson's suit another once over. “Though I guess it’s something Wilson would definitely find appealing. What did they call you on your earth with that getup?”

“The Falcon.” Wilson pulled down his goggles over his eyes, then looked at Steve again. “Hang in there, Cap.” There was a promise in the words - a reminder of the truth Sam had shown him back in the armory before they’d contacted Cisco and found their way here. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Steve laughed, but it was empty. “How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Rumlow asked, crouching in front of you to take your hands in his own.

You wished you’d been able to conceal the tremor in them, but you couldn’t. Your entire being was a mass of boiled-over emotions. Guilt, shame, fear...None of it assuaged by the knowledge that you had no choice. Rumlow would do it - you had seen it in his face. He would put you in the Chair and wipe your daughter from your memory, and god only knew what else.

It didn’t even matter that there was a limit to what you could tell him.

You’d left yourself a treasure map to the memory of where you’d hidden the Bridge plans you’d stolen. You only had the first step - not the whole route - and you couldn’t be sure of anything beyond it.

At least Rumlow had believed you when you’d explained that much.

“Tomorrow you and I will head out on this treasure hunt.” You flinched at the words, so closely echoing your own, and still couldn’t make yourself raise your eyes away from the floor, even as they filled with water, blurring. “It’ll be good for us to get away together. Like a honeymoon. We didn’t get to do that last time you were here.”

Your stomach gave a lurch and you fought to keep the bitter edge of nausea from rising as he released your hands and pushed to stand, fingers threading into your hair, as if you were a pet he was particularly pleased with.

Another wave of self-loathing washed over you, and you felt the first edge of tears spill over, leaving hot fresh tracks down your cheeks as you took one shuddering breath to try and ground yourself.

“In the meantime,” Those callused fingers found your chin, tipped your gaze up to meet the ruthless dark of his own. “I think it’s time Bex spent some time with Uncle Stark and Banner.”

No.

It brings you back to yourself like cold water being dumped over you as over Rumlow’s shoulder you see Banner descending the stairs, a still sleeping Bex draped over his shoulder.

“No.” You manage to croak, then again with more force. “No!”

You try to stand, but Rumlow pushes you back down into the chair as Banner reaches the bottom step. “We can’t bring her with us, Sunshine. She’ll be in good hands here.”

“You can’t - Brock, please, you can’t take her away from me…” The suppression bracelets on your wrist flare, white hot as your powers surge alongside your panic. “I’m...I’m begging you - please, don’t do this!” This time you manage to make it to your feet, but Rumlow holds you back as Banner and Stark walk out the front door with your sleepily stirring little girl. “Wait! At least let me hold her - let me say goodbye, Brock, please!”

“Banner,” Rumlow calls, and you watch him and Stark stop in the driveway. “A moment.” He lets go of you. “Make it quick.”

“Momma?” Bex blinks at you, still half-asleep as you rush to her. “Wa’s goi’ on?” She blinks, the sleep beginning to clear from those beautiful blue eyes. “You’re crying, momma.”

The words won’t come, and Banner won’t let you take her from him. You want to tell her that it’ll be okay, but they stick in your throat.

Rumlow’s hand comes around your arm, pulling you back to the house even as Banner moves away.

And the world goes white with light and noise as a flashbang detonates.

From above you hear the familiar sound of the EXO-suit, even as Rumlow yanks you back, towards the cover of the house, while you jerk towards Bex, now awake and shouting, thrashing in Banner’s arms as he and Stark try for the cover of the vehicle.

As the rest of your vision clears, you see a sight that makes your heart stop.

James Buchanon Barnes going toe-to-toe with Stark, feet away from you.

For a split second, you can see his face - god, you hadn’t realized how much you missed him - and then something hits you from behind, and the last thing you see is the ground rushing up to meet you as you fall.

“A little help here?” James asks as Stark’s partially-formed suit takes the brunt of his next blow.

“Looks like you’ve got it under control.” Wilson’s snarky reply is so damn familiar James has trouble remembering that this isn’t the Sam Wilson of this earth. “Tell me Banner’s not about to hulk out…”

“What the hell is hulking out?” James asks as Stark finally fucks up, and James hammers that playboy face with one, two, three punches that leave the genius staggering backwards, dazed and stunned.

“Oh you don’t have the Hulk? Cool cool cool.” Wilson touches down with a little run that turns into a confident stride as he approaches Banner and the crying kid. “That makes this a lot easier.”

As much as James wants to make sure Wilson gets your daughter - Christ, she looks even more like you this close - he’s still got Stark to contend with.

A few well placed blows and he can spin to see Rumlow dragging you, unconscious, into the house.

“Time to go, Old Man Winter.” Wilson calls, and James turns to see Banner’s body limp and sprawled, while Wilson holds the kid, still crying but calming. In the distance is the sound of shouting guards and vehicles.

She lets out a hiccup and asks, “Uncle Sam?”

“Yeah, kiddo. It’s me.” Wilson says with a gentle nudge of that wobbling chin and an easy smile. “Your favorite uncle.”

The reinforcements are closing in - too close for him to fade back into shadow and make his way out, but there's still time for Wilson to slip the closing net.

“Take the kid and go!” He orders, even as Stark staggers back to his feet, firing up the gauntlet. “Get out of here!”

Wilson tightens his arms around the girl and launches skyward even as James spins back to deal with Stark and in horror realizes that Stark isn't aiming for him.

“No!” He shouts and hears it echoed behind him in Rumlow’s voice.

Without thinking, he moves, metal hand reaching for Stark’s to move the aim of the blast.

A gunshot takes him in the leg as the first of the perimeter guards arrives.

Stark’s blast, spun down, takes him in the shoulder, shearing the metal arm clean off.

The force of the opposing hits spins him like a top, landing on his back in the driveway, staring up at a worried Wilson, a wide-eyed girl.

“Go!” He shouts. “God damn you, go!”

Even as the foot soldiers empty out of their vehicles and take aim, Rumlow barks out the command to lower their weapons - hold their fire, goddammit - and relief rushes through him even as the shock starts to take hold.

At least Rumlow realizes that if anything happens to Bex, he can kiss any form of cooperation from you goodbye.

“Bastard’s going into shock.” He hears Stark’s voice from somewhere above him as his vision starts to fade out.

“Keep him alive, Stark.” The voice of Crossbones is an order - clipped and to the point, and James knows that whatever comes after the darkness spreading across his sight is going to be unpleasant. “I don’t care what it takes. I have plans for this sonovabitch.'


	9. Stalled

Bex’s wordless cry of relief as Sam hands him his daughter is a sound Steve will never unhear in his sweetest dreams and worst nightmares.

Her tiny arms go around his neck and she sobs into his shoulder as his own hands close around her. Mac and Sam are pretending to give him privacy, but the campsite is small and well-hidden and they can’t exactly leave since the entire base is scouring the landscape for them. Eventually, she cries herself into a fitful sleep, hands still gripping him tight as can be.

“What happened?” He finally asks.

“Barnes took a hit for us. Took off his cyborg arm, but he was alive last I saw. Rumlow hit y/n - she was unconscious and the guards were coming.” Sam shakes his head and Steve can read the disbelief in his eyes. “Swear to god, I never thought Stark would aim for a kid…”

Mac snorts. “Your Stark has a soul, I take it?”

“A good one.” Steve confirms. He and Stark may not see eye to eye on a lot of things. But at the end of the day, it’s the means that they’re willing to use that separates them, not the morals. Tony would go to the ends of the world for those he considers his, and then some, just like Steve has and will. “Stark here is…”

Mac’s eyes go flat and hard. “He’s a cruel, megalomaniac, genius, billionaire.”

“No playboy philanthropist?” Sam laughs, and Steve has to admit he had been half waiting for Mac to finish the familiar phrase Tony himself has said. 

“Not since he married Pepper Potts. She’s his one weak spot, but she’s part of Hydra’s - and Stark Industries - mechanism too.”

It’s hard to picture Pepper Potts being onboard with Hydra.

Everything about this world is hard to picture even being in it.

Steve is starting to understand just how badly this world had to have messed with your head, and feels a hot lick of shame curl through him for...for everything he put you through when you came home.

He’s been here a few short weeks, and he had Sam.

You were here for over three years, and you had no one.

Not from home. 

No anchor.

No way back.

Bex lets out a sound, half-snore, half hiccup.

At least you’d had James for some of that time, Steve admits, feeling himself somewhat grudgingly soften towards Bex’s biological father. At least you’d had someone who was there for you.

“We have to get them out.”

Mac and Sam exchange a look that has him tensing. Bex’s tiny fists curl tighter and he forces himself to relax.

“We will,” Mac promises, and then his gaze drops to Bex. “But…” His gaze jumps back up to Steve’s face. “You have the little one to think of first. Y/n would tell you the same thing. We need to get you two somewhere safe. And we’re going to need help if we’re going to try and directly assault the compound.”

“You have the resources to do that?”

Mac nods. “Hydra’s been losing their grip on the population a little more each year - we’ve got no shortage of volunteers. Plus, there’s more than a few of us who wouldn’t mind getting a chance to take a shot at Stark, Banner, Rumlow and Rogers. No offense."

"None taken."


	10. Memories

James hates that he tenses up as the technician approaches with a large needle - he’s never liked needles - but strapped down as he is, it’s not like he can stop them from shooting any damn thing into his veins.

He’s not sure how long it’s been since the perimeter security team brought him here - knows that the shock of losing the arm messed with his head. Even now, his brain keeps telling him to move, to reach out and strangle the technician and keep him from giving him a dose of whatever is in the IV drip now.

His last sight of you had been your unconscious body in Rumlow’s arms.

Speaking of the devil, Rumlow gives him a particularly nasty smile and leans closer.

“Rogers can’t bring himself to kill you,” Rumlow’s tone says he has no such qualms. “Honestly, it’ll take some of the heart out of him, and I’m just not in the mood to spend the next god knows how many months patching up his broken heart,  _ and  _ running Hydra,  _ and _ taking care of my soulmate. So many competing priorities for a man’s time, you know?”

Oh, James is not going to like whatever it is Rumlow’s building up to - he can tell, even as the world is starting to slip away, one texture, one sensation at a time. The edges of everything are becoming a little fuzzy, and his mouth is drying.

“This is the torture part right?” He manages to ask. “You, monologuing. It’s effective, I’ve gotta say.”

“Why, princess? You need to use your safeword already?”

“No.” James can’t quite find brave, and settles for sarcasm instead. “It’s poughkeepsie, though, for the record.”

For a minute, Rumlow looks as though he wants nothing more than to smash his fist in James’ face. And then, slowly, willfully, he relaxes.

“Let’s skip the bullshit then.” And he closes one hand over James' jaw and forces his head to turn so he can see the other side of the room.

They’d destroyed it, but James will never not know that hulking outline. He’ll never forget the way the electricity danced through the air, or the way your jaw clenched down on the mouth guard or that moment - that lasted entirely too long - when you’d opened your eyes and blinked up at him blankly when you’d had them wipe the Bridge plans from your memory.

The fucking Chair.

“I’m going to let them wipe your memory. Oh, not all of it.” Rumlow added, no doubt feeling the tension that shot through him like a bolt. “Just...the last decade or two. Rogers gets his old pal back, Romanov loses her inside man, and the erasure process? Well, that’ll take at least two, maybe three days. I hear it’s painful. And then the Winter Wolf will be back in action.”

Fuck.

It’s hard to tell if the icy chill in his guts is from whatever they injected him with or the realization of how terrified he is that Rumlow can actually do that.

“And you know what the best part is?” The shark’s grin on Rumlow’s face tells him his terror isn’t unnoticed. “You’re going to help me hunt down every single one of those damned annoying friends of yours.” Oh, he’s full on gloating now, even as James struggles to keep his eyes focused on his face. 

Too much is slipping away from him too fast - it has to have been some kind of super sedative.

“You’re not going to know why my Sunshine looks at you like she knows you.” Rumlow continues, clearly enjoying himself, his face melting into a flesh shaped blob over him as he releases James’ jaw. “You’re not going to know…” Rumlow paused for dramatic effect. It works, as much as James hates it - this right here is one of his worst nightmares coming true. “You’re not going to know who you are, now, anymore. Whoever it was you became over the last ten years? He’s going to be wiped from existence. I honestly can’t think of a better 'death' for you, Barnes.”

"Sir," One of the technicians nervously interrupts. "It's ready."

Rumlow grins at him one last time. "Put him in the Chair."


	11. Compliance and Costs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Sorry it's taking me a while to write/edit/get these chapters posted all! Longer chapter this week tho!
> 
> Clearly I'm working out some kinda stress this week - apologies in advance and warnings ahead; next few chapters are gonna get dark.

Fighting was futile, but you did it anyway.

And now, your body beaten black and blue, your aggravated soulmate was carrying your limp body back to the Chair facility. You didn’t have the strength to struggle, and you were fairly certain one of your arms was seriously fucked up.

Bex was  _ safe _ \- last you’d seen, your baby girl was in Wilson’s arms and there’s no way Rumlow wouldn’t have been gloating if he’d killed ‘Captain America’ on this earth last night. No matter what else might happen, your baby was safe, and you knew Steve - and the rest of your family - would never stop looking for her.

You would fight like hell to get back to her, but she was safe now, and that was what mattered more than anything.

Or at least, that was what you told yourself as Rumlow deposited you on the floor of the room, techs buzzing on standby, shooting you curious looks as you managed to push yourself up onto your forearms, then half-sitting.

And then your eyes fixed on the figure in the chair - chest heaving, eyes wild, muscles clenched as the chair powered down with a dissatisfied whine and Rumlow scowled at something the man overseeing the techs told him.

“James...” His name slipped out of your mouth without thought, drawing Rumlow’s attention back to you.

He crouched next to you, practically vibrating with tension. “Beg me for his life.”

“What?” You couldn’t tear your eyes away from James.

He looked...he looked like someone had put him through a tenderizer. There wasn’t an inch of him that didn’t look battered, bruised. Those eyes - Bex’s eyes - were cloudy and unfocused from pain and exhaustion.

Rumlow’s fingers found your chin, turned your gaze away from James as the chair moved more upright. “Beg me for his life, sunshine, and I’ll break my promise. I won’t kill him.”

“Why are you doing this?” You asked, the words practically a whisper to match his own.

“Because you seemed to forget that Bex isn’t the  _ only _ person on this planet you care about.” The pulse in his throat jumped, then tightened in anger, even as his fingers curled to grip your chin. “He’s fighting the memory wipe. Techs say if he keeps doing this, he’ll end up a vegetable.”  _ No _ , you thought, as Rumlow continued “It’d be a shame if he died before he found out about his daughter. How  _ would _ you explain that one to her when she’s older?”

“You’re just…” You swallowed hard. “You’ll just kill him anyway.”

Rumlow shrugged, released your chin. “Beg me to save his life and find out.”

Distantly, you were aware that a handful of the techs in the room were watching this little exchange, as were the guards. “What are you really playing at?” The pieces came together even as the words came out, quickly.

Rogers.

This was about saving face, because Rogers would  _ never _ actually kill James Buchannon Barnes. Or at least, he’d put up enough of a fuss about it that Rumlow would be denting his own team’s motivation. Rumlow needed a way to give Rogers what he wanted without losing his standing within Hydra.

Hydra was fracturing from within.

Even as your eyes slid back to James, you knew the math worked out. Rumlow needed an excuse to not kill James. 

“If you don’t beg me to save his life, sunshine, I will keep my promise. I will pull him out of that chair, and I will kill him so slowly and so painfully that they will be too afraid to even  _ whisper _ about what Crossbones does to those who cross him.” He pulled your head back to face him. He meant it.

“P-p-puh...please don’t.” Pushing the words past your lips felt like taking a knife - something inside you was cut open, jagged and twisting into knots you didn’t dare look at too closely.

“I didn’t catch that, darling.” His dark eyes glittered with menace as you remembered your audience.

He needed the show.

If you were a hero, you thought bitterly, mouth filling with something acidic, you would tell him to shove it. You would provoke him - push him enough and he would kill you and James, and the fracture in Hydra would widen irreparably, loosening another one of its tentacles around this world.

You couldn’t do it.

God help you, and this world, because you couldn’t do it. Couldn’t sign James’ death warrant. Which was, you realized, looking at Rumlow, exactly what he’d been counting on.

You swallowed, let your eyes fill with water from the pain as you dragged yourself fully upright. “Plea-please, Brock. Please don’t kill him. Please.”

Rumlow rose back to his full height and you struggled to your feet as he took a step towards James, who’s eyes were starting to clear.

“Brock.” Your hand found purchase around his arm, uncomfortably aware of how this scene must look. “Please. I’ll...Tell me what you want from me, and it’s yours. Just don’t...please  _ let him live _ .”

The pause in his step was calculated as he turned to you, reluctance playing across his face. You shivered under his gaze a little - Brock Rumlow was one hell of an actor. His expression managed to strike just the right note of internal conflict for your audience.

The big bad, mad Crossbones, stopped by the pleas of his soulmate for another man's life. He would milk this for everything it was worth.

You didn’t realize that you were crying until his hand brushed over your cheek and came away wet. 

“I want  _ everything _ .” The possessive statement was right out of a made-for-tv melodrama as he pulled you close, pressed his forehead against your own and confessed in a stage whisper that would have done any theatre master proud as he closed his eyes. “Only for you, sunshine.”

When he pulled back just a little, you could already tell that the people in the room would be telling this story to everyone they knew within the hour. Look at the romantic Crossbones can be, but only for his soulmate.

“I’ll give you ten minutes with him.” Rumlow pressed a kiss to your forehead. Gentle. Sweet, even, and a hysterical laughter threatened to spill over as you bit down on your lip. Hard. “Get him to stop fighting the wipe, and he’ll live.”

You nodded, sinking into a moment of numbness as Rumlow stepped back with great reluctance and began barking orders.

You pushed out one slow, long breath and turned to face James. His eyes were still a little clouded by pain, but as you came closer they cleared more. 

“Y/n.” He breathed your name like a plea, a prayer, an acceptance.

“Stop fighting the machine.” You told him.

“What?” The betrayal in his eyes stung - god, did it.

“You need to survive this.”

“You want me to let them turn me into a monster?” He was already shaking his head. “What the hell does he have over you? Sam got your daughter out - why would you want him to do this? Let him kill me - I can’t...I  _ won’t _ be a killer for him again.”

“James, I need you to trust me.” Your hand found his, squeezed tight. “We’re going to get you back. I need you to have a working brain on the other side of this. It’s important, James. I swear.”

“Tell me. Tell me why.”

The demand was fair - but....your heart clenched painfully tight in your chest. “They’ll just...they’ll take it from you. I don’t...I can’t hurt you like that.”

“That’s not good enough, doll.” Oh, you recognized the stubborn set of that brow. How many times had you watched it in that long ago cabin, when trust was still young and green between the two of you? “Whatever it is, I can handle it. And if I can’t,” He lets out a huff that could be interpreted as laughter. “I won’t have to hold onto it for very long, one way or the other.” His voice drops to a whisper between the two of you. “Give me a reason to come through this. Please.” His voice cracked on the last word. “Don’t make me be a monster again just because you can’t let me go.”

You couldn’t hold back the sob that broke free from your throat, even as your hand tightened on his again. “James, jesus...I...When I left here last time…”

“Spit it out, doll.”

“Iwaspregnant.” 

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“What?” Stunned shock in those eyes you’d seen in your daughter’s face for the last four years. “Wait, are you-”

“Bex is  _ our _ daughter, James. Yours and mine. And I need you to do this - I need you to come through the other side of this because I can’t stand the thought of you never getting to know her.” 

“But you were on your earth…”

“Tony - my Tony - was working on a way to open the breaches. Carefully. Controlled. It was just...it was taking a while.” You confessed. Steve hadn’t known, and Stark had been all too eager to keep him out of the loop. Even knowing it was a long shot, you couldn’t...you couldn’t not try.

“Ours?” He mouthed the word again. “Ours.”

“She has your eyes.” You told him, felt your lips curve up in a watery smile. “And your sense of humor.”

“But...you and Steve…Your Steve…”

“Yeah, he, ah...he didn’t take it so well. We were...We were just getting back to a good place as friends. And he adores her. Bex.”

“He’s here.” James spits the words out like bullets, volume low.

“What?” The shock hit you like a wave, freezing you.

“You can’t let...you can’t let Rumlow know. But he was here, with Wilson. From your world. That’s who got Bex out.” There’s a layer of messages in his next statement. “They’ll be coming back for you.”

“For us.”

“That’s charitable on your part.” He lets out an empty laugh. “Might not be that much left of me to save if I do this.”

“It can be undone.” You promise him. “Our Barnes - he was deprogrammed.” You have no idea if Shuri or Wakanda even exist in this world and you are absolutely writing checks your ass has no way of cashing. “We’re going to get you back James, and you’re going to meet your daughter. But you can’t do that if you’re a vegetable. Or dead.”

“I was gonna ask you to stay.” The words are bleak, and his smile is soft as you gape at him. “Screw soulmates - screw fate and destiny and all that crap. I wouldn’t stop you from leaving, but I couldn’t not try…I couldn’t not take the chance this time...”

“You come through this, and I’ll give you that chance.” You promise him. “But you have to stop fighting the machine or you’re not going to get that chance, James.”

He looks at you - just looks - and it breaks your heart.

He’s looking at you like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your face. As if, by force of will alone, he could imprint it so deeply and safely that it can’t be erased. 

And then he nods. 

“I knew you could do it, sunshine.” Rumlow’s arm is around your waist, half for show and half holding you upright as the Chair finishes cycling down.

“Don’t.” You can’t help the clipped tones or the tension in your body as your eyes stay fixed on the body in the chair. Still...James is so still that if you couldn’t see the rise and fall of his chest, you’d think he was dead. “Don’t call me that.”

“As you wish.” Rumlow smiles at your double take of surprise, satisfaction plain to see at having finally drawn your attention away from James. “What? They don’t have the Princess Bride on your earth?”

“They do. Just never…”

“Pegged me for a romantic. I know, I know.” His shrug is all boyish ‘aww shucks’ and you have never wanted to punch someone so hard in your life as the techs call out command words in Russian.

“I hate you.” You settle for words, knowing if you tried to take a swing at him, your protesting body would only end up on the floor again.

“For now.” Rumlow lifts one of your hands to his lips, pressing a soft  kiss there. “For now, Zvezdnyy svet.”

He lifts his lips away from your skin without breaking eye contact and his smile turns predatory around the edges as you shiver against him.

“Soldat?” The lead technician asks.

“Ready to comply.” Comes the toneless, empty response.


End file.
